


Flowers, Lies, and Forgiveness

by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)



Series: Paragon of Their Kind 2020 Exchange [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Bianca Davri POV, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Implied Relationships, Infidelity, Loving Marriage, Oral Sex, Paragon of Their Kind Exchange, Red Lyrium, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, Varric Tethras Is So Done, Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, Varric Tethras/Dusana Helmi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27385042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold
Summary: Bianca Davri receives a bouquet of flowers signifying the lover she never could quite let go of is in town, trailing trouble in his wake. She knows she shouldn't go to him, but she always does.
Relationships: Bianca Davri/Bogdan Vasca, Bianca Davri/Varric Tethras
Series: Paragon of Their Kind 2020 Exchange [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036824
Comments: 13
Kudos: 11
Collections: 2020 A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	Flowers, Lies, and Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollyand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/gifts).



> Happy dwarf exchange, Hollyand! Enjoy!

“Delivery for Mistress Davri.”

The shout from the door silenced the ring of hammers and roar of bellows because every apprentice working stopped in their tracks to stare. Bianca lifted her eyes from the tiny gears she was _painstakingly_ polishing to pierce the elf darkening her threshold with her gaze.

The willowy creature cradled an absolute _bushel_ of Prophet’s Laurel in her bony arms. Bianca’s heart thumped once solidly in her chest and her neck prickled with the sudden fear she was being watched. As if she wasn’t _always_ being watched.

But Prophet’s Laurel only meant one thing. One _glorious_ thing.

One seriously annoying thing.

“Over here!” She called out into the silent forge. “Mind all my apprentices standing around.”

It was a mark of her authority that her tone sent a flurry of teenagers and young adults back to their tasks and away from gawking at the elf weaving through them bearing her gift.

“No note, ma’am.” The elf chattered nervously, dumping the flowers onto her blueprints. Bianca wrinkled her nose in momentary annoyance before smoothing it away, keeping her voice soft as silk.

“Bogdan never can think of the right words to say, but such a sweet gesture.” She made a show of letting her lashes dip, a secretive smile playing around her lips. Her fingers traced the velvet petals like she couldn’t quite believe they were real. “I’ll have to thank him.”

Or, in reality, make up for the shitty things she was about to do. _Again_.

She plucked a silver out of her purse and tossed it to the elf, waiting for her to scurry away before examining the flowers a bit more closely.

 _Varric Tethras._ One of his classic moves, in truth. The _first_ flower he’d ever given her had been an embrium blossom as big as her face. She remembered laughing and asking if he couldn’t pick something more _traditional_. She could still see his sly smirk and hear his smooth voice.

 _But no other flower means I like your taste, does it_?

Every flower had a meaning, and he made sure she learned them all. Andraste’s Grace when he was thinking of her. Arbor Blessing when he wished to tell her she was beautiful. Dawn Lotus to ask if she’d gotten his letter. The white roses she sent on the morning of her wedding to tell him she couldn’t do it anymore.

But Prophet’s Laurel always made her heart stutter, even after all these years. Because Prophet’s Laurel meant one thing, and one thing _only_.

_I’m here, beautiful. Waiting patiently._

She picked up the bouquet and brought it to her nose, making a great show of sniffing the petals while her fingers dove past the tough, woody stems. The note was right where she knew it would be, right where he _always_ stuck them, at the very heart of the bundle.

There was probably something poetic to be said for that. Varric could twist it into something pretty, but she wasn’t made for delicate flowers or convoluted metaphors. She was more a ‘strike while the iron was hot’ kind of girl. Quick, decisive action was needed in the forge. And in life.

In all honesty, she’d have been a hell of a warrior if she hadn’t been born to the forge.

Bianca spun on the heel of her boot, flowers cradled in the crook of her arm, and retreated through the massive expanse of her forge. She ignored the keen interest of the dozens of people in the workshop, sweeping past them to the private rooms in the back.

She slammed the door shut behind her and fought the urge to sag against it once she’d escaped the scrutiny. Instead she tossed the flowers on the broad table where Bogdan hosted business meetings that could last _days_ and unfolded the note.

_The Tipsy Demon. 3rd floor. 4th door on left. Here all night._

The Tipsy Demon? _Ancestors_ , she could smell stale vomit already. Bianca sighed, running her scarred thumb over the neat, precise print while she chewed on her lip.

Something was wrong, and the brevity of the note was just her latest clue. It wasn’t like Varric wouldn’t sneak a surprise visit if he could manage it, they’d both done that foolish sort of nonsense whenever the chance arose. But no teasing innuendo in his secret note? _That_ spelled trouble.

The last time she felt this foreboding about an unsigned note, after all, he’d shown up with hollow eyes, nearly a decent beard, and Bartrand’s blood still staining his duster. She still recalled the way he clung to her, eyes too dry, whispering undying devotion into her skin like prayers for the dead.

She shouldn’t go. Seeing him like that last time had nearly made her throw _everything_ away, again, to put him back together.

She shouldn’t go. But she was _going_ to.

Bianca shoved the note in her pocket, smoothed her hands over her bodice, and shook her head to clear it. Her eyes found the door on the other side of the room, studied it for a moment, before she rearranged her features into harried frustration, took a deep breath, and stalked toward the closed door.

She slammed her hip into it and let the momentum drag her into the room, depositing her neatly in front of Bogdan’s desk. She made a show of twisting to slam it shut behind her before collapsing in the empty armchair reserved for her use _only_.

Bogdan didn’t even look up, but she saw the corner of his mouth crinkle beneath his thick, dark beard. His hand flew over a piece of paper with efficient precision. It would be a letter, clearly, Bogdan had no time for prose. He was a man of business, and _nobody_ did it better.

Truly, he was as much a genius as she was, and _just_ as shrewd.

But he’d always had a blind spot for her, no matter how his family complained, no matter what all the gossip said. He never examined her too closely, never poked holes in her lies, never crowded into her spaces. He would _never_ let a business partner have the leeway Bianca did. Probably because they’d abuse it too.

“Remind me why I have a dozen children in my forge.” She complained breathlessly.

He continued to write, but his warm chuckle was far too fond. “The cost of genius, I’m afraid. Combined with your inability to tell anyone no when they ask if their brat can study under the brilliant, dazzling Bianca Davri…”

“They’re in my way, Bogdan.” She pouted, kicking her feet up onto the scuffed corner where they always rested. “And they’re _loud_. I can hardly think straight with all their banging.”

 _That_ made him stop and look up, dark eyes glittering. “I’ve got news about the banging, clanging, and your choice of career.”

She hadn’t chosen it, it’d been chosen for her. Just like Bogdan. Just like this forge. And she loved him, really, just like she loved her work. She loved _all_ of it, but-

“It’s different when it’s _my_ banging and clanging and you know it.” Bianca rolled her shoulders while Bogdan sat his pen to the side, steepling his fingers and looking over them to pin her with a look full of weary humor.

“Well. We could lock them in the cellar, but their parents may complain.” He offered gamely.

She laughed, shaking her head. The lie came easily, _far_ too easily. “I think I’ll just stay a bit late tonight after I’ve sent them off. See if I can get some _actual_ work done.”

Bogdan didn’t even blink. If her plans seemed unusual, or set off alarm bells, he didn’t say. But then again, he _never_ said a word. They didn’t talk about the past, after all. Only the future.

“You’ve been working like a sodding bronto lately, Bianca.”

He wasn’t wrong. But, also, he was very incorrect in this specific situation. “No rest for the wicked, Bogdan.”

There it was. The shrewd flash of his eyes. “Working yourself back into the stone isn’t going to make the Assembly get off their asses, you know.”

She rolled her eyes, she couldn’t help it. “I’ve given up on _that_ fever dream. They’re never gonna make me a Paragon and we all know it.”

And it shouldn’t sting, but it did. Just a little.

“You don’t need them to.” Bogdan’s voice went soft, soothing. “You already are, whether or not they vote on it.”

Her stomach flipped in guilt, an emotion she feared flitted across her face, but her husband simply dropped his eyes back to the letter he was writing while he stroked his beard.

“Want me to stay?” Bogdan asked. “I’ll get a head start on some contracts and we can get something delivered for dinner.”

She shook her head, plastering a smile over her features. “Go home, Bogdan. I’ll try not to sleep here, but you know how I get.”

His pen scratched the paper, a sound she always found soothing, even though she still suspected it was another pen she imagined when she heard it. “I know, Bianca. I know.”

* * *

The Tipsy Demon looked like the type of establishment one would gamble their last copper away in. Or, maybe, the place foolish women met their untimely ends making the same _idiotic_ mistakes they’d made in their misspent youth.

Bianca Davri, Paragon of stupid decisions and _absolutely_ nothing else. They could put it on her tomb.

She stepped over the threshold and the drunk sailor that laid half across it, dipping her head and tugging her hood further forward to hide the tell-tell shine of her copper hair. It was bad enough that her distinctive lack of stature was hard enough to hide, no need to give the rest of it away. Honestly, she half-wished she dared leave her bow in the forge while she picked her way across the city to Val Royeux’s seedier side.

But in addition to smelling just as awful as she suspected it would, an intriguing blend of unwashed men, watered down ale, and mold, it was just as dangerous as she suspected. It was ridiculous to feel her heartbeat speed up at that thought, excitement thrumming alongside the nervousness in her blood.

 _Children_ were excited by walking into the deepstalker’s den. She was a grown woman, one who knew better for all the good knowing better did her. She still found herself striding towards the rickety staircase, her boots pounding on creaking wood. Still found her pulse spiking as she crested the second floor and turned to take the next flight of steps to the third.

It was _almost_ silent when she made it to the top of the ramshackle inn. The sound of rough voices, dice, and clinking pewter mugs seemed far away. The hall stretched into darkness, dotted by guttering lanterns on the wall. A window at the far end was flung open, letting in the evening chill and banishing the worst of the smell.

The fact that the window was across from the fourth door was probably _not_ a coincidence.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she got to the final doorway and raised her knuckles to the wood. She swallowed her anxiety, her fear of what she’d find, and reached out.

Her hand barely scraped the door before it flew inwards in a way that had her reaching for her bow on instinct. The only thing that stayed her hand was the familiar graveled voice that growled from within the shadows.

“Thank the _fucking_ Maker.”

Varric’s form melted out of the darkness, one thick arm reaching for her like a man in the desert finally staggering into an oasis. He dragged her into the room, whirling her around only to kick the door shut behind them. She made a surprised noise he quickly silenced with a kiss that teetered on the edge of _too_ desperate.

It was a kiss that made something curdle in her belly, but her body knew what to do, even if her brain clattered on like one of her machines, unstoppable and _unrelenting_. Her fingers tangled in his hair, legs wrapped around his waist, and he groaned into her mouth.

It was right. And it _wasn’t_.

She wrenched away, breathing his name as a question. “Varric?”

He was holding her, supporting her whole weight in a way Bogdan _never_ could, but Bogdan hadn’t been fighting in the streets his whole damn life. Bogdan hadn’t been carrying around a crossbow _meant_ to be shot from a stand because he was too blighted stubborn to-

Varric buried his stubbled jaw in the hollow of her neck, kissing her thudding pulse. “Long story short, I’m somehow _still_ not dead.”

Not for lack of trying, she was sure. The thought made her grasp onto him tight as a vine. The humor in her voice was forced, but she managed it, and that was all he could ask for from her. “Shocking. What happened?”

“What _hasn’t_ happened?” He grumbled, nipping at the delicate skin of her jaw. “I had to go on a date with Dusana Helmi, and then it got _worse_.”

He had to… oh for stone’s sake. If he’d run the whole way here because he fucked someone else _she_ was going to kill him. “She’s easy on the eyes.”

He pulled back, pressed his forehead to hers, forced her to stare into the molten amber depths of _his_ gaze. “She’s not you.”

She scoffed because it was far easier than forcing herself to deal with the intensity he brought to every single damn thing. “Of course she’s not. Can you _imagine_ the state of Thedas if there was more than one of me?”

He didn’t say that at least then _he’d_ have one of her. She appreciated his restraint, cause she certainly saw the thought flash into his head before he shoved it back. Before he could say anything they’d regret, she pressed on. “How’d it get worse? She try to make you grow a beard, or did she try to murder you?”

“Both.” Varric’s broad hand fisted in the back of her coat and pressed her firmly to his chest. He took one steady step into the room, towards the low bed, but they didn’t even make it a second step before his lips traveled back to her jaw. He traced a needy, fiery path to her ear. “Which was still a better time than getting stuck in the Deep Roads with crazy Carta, darkspawn, blood magic, and Tevinter magisters.”

“I’m sorry, _what_ kind of bullshit did you waltz into?” She asked incredulously.

Varric’s roguish grin stretched his lips, but she could see the chips in his mask, the parts where it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “And I haven’t even gotten to how royally fucked Kirkwall is yet in this story.”

“Is there a happy ending at least?” Her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, the leather duster worn and cracking beneath them.

“For you? I’ll write one in.”

She almost screamed. She didn’t _want_ him to tell her a pretty story, she _wanted_ him to… fuck if she even knew anymore. Stop going on adventures and nearly getting himself killed? Settle down with Dusana Helmi?

Stay right where he was with his talented fingers tugging her bodice from her breeches and his teeth nipping at her earlobe right before he pressed a gentle kiss behind it, just the way she liked?

Bianca _never_ knew what she wanted with him, but it was because he made her want things she’d given up years ago. Things like the freedom of an ocean voyage, the penniless romanticism of exiled lovers, idealistic hopes and dreams worn by a younger woman who thought she was more clever than anyone else.

Made her yearn for a young man whose wit was the only match she’d ever found for her own indomitable intelligence.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” She gave in the moment his calloused fingers found the bare skin of her spine, melting into his touch while they collapsed onto the sagging bed together.

Varric’s warm chuckle already sounded less harsh, richer, more content. He plucked at the laces of her bodice while his eyes traveled the lines of her body. “Me? Never. _Especially_ not in the Deep Roads. I’d never let Hawke hear the end of it.”

While he worked on undressing her, she traced her nose down the lobe of his ear with all his flashy piercings. “I’d be furious with you.”

His fingers finally shoved away all the material from her torso, yanking it over her head. She smirked while his eyes darkened, taking in her bare chest. “Nicer than Dusana’s?”

“What makes you think I wasn’t a perfect gentleman on my date with Helmi?” Varric asked, lifting his brow.

She tugged at his sash pointedly, indicating her clear wish for it to vanish. “When have you _ever_ been a perfect gentleman?”

“Twice.” He conceded. “Gotta admit, both instances involved you.”

“I was an easily dazzled ingenue, Varric.” The sash finally came undone, allowing her greedy hands to slip beneath the silk to the broad, hard muscles beneath. “Taken in by a dashing rogue.”

Varric scoffed, allowing her to explore to her heart’s content while his own fingers blazed a path up her ribs. “In what version of the story? The one your mother believes?”

She laughed, _actually_ laughed, and sweet Ancestors she could hardly remember the last time she laughed like that. “My mother hasn’t believed my innocence in _years_ , Varric.”

His tunic came off with a flourish and Bianca traced her fingers down familiar scars, smiling into his rugged face. He shook his head in fond exasperation. “And yet, I’m the one with assassins up my ass.”

Because to her family, _he_ was disposable. She was troublesome, but _necessary_. A meal ticket, if nothing else.

Arms twisted around his neck and she crashed their lips together. He tasted like fire, smoke, tasted like he had demons on his heels this time instead of blood on his coat. He tasted like the world was ending in fire and she was the only thing left that mattered.

She allowed his feral passion to overwhelm her, allowed him to drive every thought of caution or the future out of her head. It was just them, suspended between reality and fiction, truth and lies, the past and future.

She was with him, and she was _free_.

Bianca scrambled to hold onto him while he grabbed at her breeches, yanking them down. Varric pulled away from their bruising kiss, swearing under his breath, and dropping his attention to getting her out of her boots and pants. Not content to sit still and let him do all the work, she sat up so quickly she nearly headbutted him.

One boot fell beside the bed. Another. Then Varric was pulling her pants off so forcefully she actually squeaked and slid across the sheets.

Instead of returning to lay claim to her mouth, Varric detoured on his way back up her body. Fingers sunk into her lush curves with complete disregard for any bruises he’d leave, marks she’d have to spend days hiding.

Marks she’d trace and daydream about over and over again.

His hungry mouth closed on one of her breasts and she bit back a moan, arching into his talented tongue while it swirled around her nipple. His eyes swung to her face, studying her expression with rapt interest.

It was the same blighted expression he wore when he was thinking of how something would look in print and she’d shoot him with the damned crossbow if their assignations ended up in one of his shoddy romances. Like he saw the threat rising to the tip of her tongue, he closed his lips tight over the pebbled point and _sucked_.

Heat lurched in her gut, slick and delicious. Her fingers fisted in his hair and yanked, demanding and impatient. A playful growl reverberated against her skin just in time for one hand to neatly slip behind her back and the other to brush against her other neglected breast.

He rolled a nipple between his fingers at the same time his tongue flicked the other and she mewed her approval, head falling back to the pillow. Her heels dug into the mattress and her hips bucked, seeking pressure, seeking _friction_.

Varric read her mind, slotting his broad leg between her splayed thighs. He still wore his own pants, and the rasp of the cotton against her bare flesh was enough to make her whimper and pant. She shamelessly rolled her hips, chasing the sparks of pleasure dancing just out of reach.

She forgot. She _always_ forgot. Varric knew her body in ways nobody else did. He knew the way she liked to be teased. Knew she loved the build, the slow, lingering touches punctuated with sharp bites of sensation from his teeth and fingers. Each one sent bolts of pleasure into the building knot in her core.

“ _Varric-_ ” Bianca’s voice broke on his name, half demand, half plea. He moaned, giving her breast one last teasing lick while his hand trained lower, dipping to the apex of her thighs and running a thick finger over her slit.

He found her slick, willing and _wanting_. She knew by the flash of dark desire on his face and the way he swirled his finger over her skin, the lightest tease of what she needed. There was just the hint of triumphant male pride in his eyes and she wanted to slap it away, but his featherlight touch on her clit made her gasp needily instead.

“You’re wound tight.” Varric smirked, circling her bundle of nerves with a touch that was frankly _maddening_. “Working too much?”

“Some of us can’t sail through life on our chest hair.” She retorted breathlessly.

He laughed again, pressing a sweet kiss on her sternum. “You’re right, Bianca. I should be doing more of the heavy lifting here.”

That was the only warning she got before the arm behind her back tightened on her waist. Varric rolled to the side, flat on his back, her sprawled over his broad chest. The wicked smirk on face was all lighthearted amusement foiled only by the blazing desire in his eyes and the stiff length against her thigh.

“Come here beautiful.” Varric cooed, pulling her up his body, rubbing her against the thick hair covering his chest. “Let me take care of you.”

Oh. _Oh._ That was too tempting to resist. She propped herself up on shaky legs, adopting her own cocky expression while she straddled his chest. His big hands found her plump ass and squeezed appreciatively while he stared up at her.

“You gonna tell me a good story, Varric?” She asked, cording her fingers through the chest hair she was secretly so fond of. “See if Kirkwall’s best bullshitter still has the golden touch?”

She could feel his mounting desperation in the iron grip on her thighs. “The best kinda story. One with all sorts of twists, turns, dramatic pauses, feverish crescendos…”

“Your next bestseller?”

“Only available for private readings.” He insisted smoothly.

Her lips twitched. “For me and Dusana Helmi?”

He rolled his eyes in a silent plea for patience before tugging her forward with all his brute strength as easily as her damn crossbow while he growled. “Come here.”

She allowed herself to be dragged up to his mouth. She could have stopped him if she wanted to, but _why_ would she want to? She’d already gotten this far in the bad decision making, may as well enjoy herself.

Her knees sunk into the lumpy mattress on either side of his head. He shifted, propping himself up on the lackluster pillows while she clutched at the flimsy headboard.

Then his rough tongue drew itself over her slit and she was helpless to do anything but moan his name. The only answer from Varric was a throaty laugh and an affectionate pat on her ass before he dived in with _gusto_.

It had been Varric’s tongue that seduced her in the first place. Sometimes she wondered if it wasn’t why she kept coming back. All those clever half truths, pretty stories, and his webs of lies kept it deft as a thief’s fingers.

By now, he knew all the cracks in her armor. Maybe it was her zingers about Dusana, maybe Varric’s brush with near death wherever he’d followed Hawke, but he seemed intent on showing her no mercy.

Bianca couldn’t find it in her to complain.

Her breath caught in her throat while Varric’s tongue parted her folds, lapping at her slick entrance. Just as her nerves began to sing, he changed tact, the pointed tip sliding down to circle her clit until she shook and bucked above him. She bit her lip to hold back her sharp cries, and just when the pressure seemed too great to bear, Varric backed off and began to place feather light kisses over her inner thighs before starting all over.

She knew this game. She knew it _well_. Bianca also knew she was going to lose, eventually, but part of the game was seeing how long she could hold onto the headboard with white knuckles, seeing how long she could last while Varric did his best to drive her to the edge of sanity with his wicked tongue.

Below her, his eyes fixed on her while she writhed and bucked above him. He used his grip on her ass to rock her back and forth on his tongue, his face, forcing her to ride him while holding her at the edge of the cliff.

And all she wanted to do was _fall,_ dammit.

“ _Varric_.” She panted. “Varric, fucking _fuck_ -”

Another flick of her clit made her almost scream. All the world was falling away. All she had was the electric feeling of his stubble on her lush thighs, his hands cupping her ass, the building fire threatening to choke her on smoke and heat because _he_ was holding the explosion at bay.

“ _Varric_.” She half sobbed his name. “Varric, _please_.”

The magic word. His lips closed around her clit and applied just the right amount of pressure. It was like watching a forge catch, like watching sparks fly when a hammer hit bright hot metal. She swore she could hear the ringing in her ears while the pleasure crashed over her. She could hardly breathe past it, hardly hear anything past the blood thundering in her veins.

If she wouldn’t have been holding onto the headboard, she’d have collapsed. As it was she sagged forward, copper curls hanging past her chin while Varric hummed his delight beneath her, licking up the slick mess he’d caused.

His meticulous attention to her was enough to make her pry stiff fingers from the bedframe to card through his own hair, gentle and tender. Emotion swelled in her throat along with a surge of bitterness.

_They could have always been like this._

But that wasn’t true. Or fair. And she was far past crying over spilled ale.

Varric pulled his warm eyes from his work to settle on hers. Desire as pointed as a crossbow bolt sliced across his face as he gave her one last swipe with his broad tongue before pulling her away, grinning up at her, lips shining with her wetness.

“Have I pleased my cruel mistress, or should I get back to work?” Varric rumbled.

A part of her wanted to torment him. Draw it out. The rest of her muscles clenched in sudden desire.

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough month.” Bianca shimmied down his body, making sure to revel in the feel of his luxurious chest hair against her prickling skin.

“Sweetheart, it’s been a _year_.” He claimed, watching her like a fish on a hook while she splayed her thighs almost uncomfortably wide to straddle his hips. Her strong fingers dropped to the large bulge in his hands, pressing the heel of her palm over it until he groaned and bucked beneath her.

“In that case, sit back and let the master take care of it.”

An echo of their first meeting. When he’d hovered by her elbow, intent on watching her fiddle with his failed prototype. She’d shot him that instruction and whipped away in a huff. She still remembered the shock and delight on his face.

There wasn’t shock there, not now, but delight and so much adoration it squeezed her heart until her breath stuttered. He captured her free hand, bringing to his lips and pressing a rough kiss to her knuckles. “Glad to be taken advantage of by a master.”

The same thing he’d shouted after her _then_. No wonder she made the worst mistake of her life for him. She’d do it again in a heartbeat.

That thought drove her to abandon her well-laid plans momentarily to stretch across his body and press a sugary kiss to his lips. The taste of her on his lips was _sinful_ indulgence, and she could easily drown in it.

Except she had a blueprint, and she could already see the fulfillment of her plans in her mind, all the parts falling into perfect place. Reluctantly, she released his wind-chapped lips with a gentle nip.

“It’s still you, y’know.” Varric murmured. “No matter how many dates I’ve gotta go on.”

She cupped his rough jaw in his hand, brushed her thumb over his chin, and beamed down at him. “I know.”

He opened his mouth, and Ancestors, she hoped he wasn’t about to start spouting off his latest attempt at poetry. Truly, he was best suited to his mysteries and action, the same way _she_ was.

Because she was a woman of action, it was a simple matter to yank his trousers down, revealing his thick cock in all it’s dwarven pride. Her fingers wrapped around it and whatever nonsense was about to fly out of his mouth was _promptly_ forgotten in a throaty moan that reverberated across the room.

She dragged his cock down her aching, wet slit to enjoy the hiss of air escaping his lungs and the sheer novelty of being the only damn woman who could shut Varric Tethras up.

Then she guided him into her sopping entrance, the air escaping her own lungs as he stretched and filled her like nobody else ever could. Her hands scrambled to fist in his chest hair, feeling him panting already the same way she was.

They gave each other a moment, a breathless moment, to adjust. Varric’s heart beat beneath her fingertips, his hands settled on her waist. They stared at each other in the silence. Lost and, at the same time, _found_.

Then Bianca rolled her hips and set Varric into a fit of cursing that would have made her _giggle_ if not for her own pleasure lighting up her veins like mage fire.

“C’mon beautiful.” Varric rasped, his hands trailing down to cup her ass again and dragging her forward. “Let me see how a master smith works.”

She rose up until just the tip of his cock remained inside her before slamming down, making him groan and sending sparks shooting to her fingertips and toes. Her predatory grin was reflected in the sheer intense hunger in his face.

“Oh Varric.” She purred. “This is me _playing_.”

He laughed, but that trailed off into another moan while she began a pace bordering on frantic. She half feared he’d try to hold her back, make her take it slow, tell her to savor it. Sometimes it was like that, but the man beneath her was as reckless and lost as she was this time.

“That’s it.” He growled when she found that angle that made her yelp in surprised delight. He rocked his hips up, taking blatant advantage, hammering into her with unerring accuracy to make her moan. “That’s my girl. C’mon, Bianca. Let me see you.”

She couldn’t resist the lure of his voice. Her hips jerked forward, riding him hard, riding him with the greedy abandon of a woman too long denied. She writhed and moaned, tugging at the hair on his chest until her muscles locked and she screamed. Nails raked down Varric’s chest, leaving scratches she knew he wouldn’t be able to hide with his blighted shirts unbuttoned.

And she didn’t _care_.

Bianca’s cresting pleasure left her helpless to do anything but give in when Varric almost threw her spasming body off him. She collapsed into the mattress still bucking, reaching for him at the same time he crashed his lips back into hers. Strong fingers twisted into her hair, holding her to him while he groaned and grunted into her mouth.

She felt the hot seed splatter onto her stomach, felt the hunger in his kiss recede while he emptied himself onto her skin, the kiss becoming slow and soft while he pumped his softening cock with one hand and the other stroked sweat slick hair from her face.

“You know.” She whispered against his lips as he stopped to catch his breath. “Still on herbs.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Varric’s eyes, when he opened them, looked ancient and weary. “Even what’s-his-name may object to any unforeseen bundles of trouble.”

 _Bogdan_. Bianca closed her eyes and summoned a wry smile to her lips. “I’m not mother material and he knows it.”

She _had_ babies. Her ideas, her works, all carefully nourished. A real child… well. She didn’t have a plan for that contingency, and unlike Varric, she needed to know the plan.

Varric didn’t bother to argue with her. He touched his forehead lightly to hers for a heartbeat before pulling away. She felt bereft at his loss for a second before he returned with soft cloth she _suspected_ he used to polish his crossbow and wasn’t _that_ a laugh.

“I’ll go down for some water to wash up properly.” Varric murmured, wiping up the mess on her skin. “Maybe even something decent to eat.”

She scoffed and opened one eye, observing his face in the dim light. Shadows made his features look heavy, the desperate edge of need extinguished, leaving something hollow in its wake.

“What’s happening in Kirkwall, Varric?” She kept her voice soft as the featherlight touch she trailed up his bare arm. “Your letters hardly say anything.”

He shot her an incredulous look. “Bianca, I don’t know if you realized, my last letter was six pages long.”

Her own smile felt as heavy as his. “And you didn’t say _anything_.”

Varric sighed and laid down behind her, cloth discarded, arms circling her waist and pulling her tight to his chest. She couldn’t see his face when he whispered in her ear, but the words sent a chill down her spine.

“You ever think you’re on the edge of a cliff and you’re about to go over?”

Yes. She had. _Once_. Then she’d come back and married Bogdan.

Varric would have dived right over the edge then. She wondered if he would now.

* * *

The door to the forge opened, but Bianca didn’t look up from the tiny gears she was fitting into her newest machine.

The work was mind-numbingly tedious and delicate, requiring her full attention. It was the perfect balm for the storm of her thoughts. Varric’s visit left more gnawing worries than reassurance in its wake. In fact, the sense of impending doom was _palpable_ and she felt helpless to do anything but fit the tiny parts of her work together and wish futilely it was the shattered pieces of Varric’s life.

The gear slid into place perfectly and she drew a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, finally looking up. Bogdan’s dark eyes examined her closely and her heart jumped into her throat.

“You’re here early.” She greeted with a perfectly pleasing smile.

His eyes were warm, compassionate, and the worry in his voice sounded sincere. “You never came home last night. Have you been working the whole time?”

Thank the Ancestors for the excuse of genius to get her out of a lie. “I just noticed it was morning.”

He sighed. “That’s what I thought. I’ll have somebody bring you something to eat. And I’ve already sent notes to your apprentices to take the day off.”

She was oddly touched by the gesture, enough to have to blink quickly. “Well, I won’t complain about that.”

He hesitated for only a moment before leaning towards her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. His beard scratched at her forehead, made her wrinkle her nose, but the warm, vanilla scent of him settled her twisted stomach.

His hand lingered on her cheek before he removed it, sauntering past with the air of a man well aware of his place in the world. Bianca watched him go for a moment, turning back to her work bench and stopping short.

On top of her blueprints was one yellow rose, pristine in its glory, petals like the sunlight filtering through the high windows. Bogdan must have placed it there before announcing himself, right where she’d see it. It was a message. She _knew_ it was.

Yellow roses meant ‘I forgive you’, just like Bogdan always did.

She gently moved the flower aside, placing it on one of her books before reaching under the bench and removing one small box, lined in lead, made of heavy steel. She pulled her gloves on, meant to protect her delicate hands from the heat of the forge, and grit her teeth before gently undoing the complicated lock.

She heard it as soon as she flung the lid open, a discordant melody with the sound of whispers underneath, as unsettling as the red pulsing shard in the center of the box.

She couldn’t fix what was broken, but she had a plan for what to do next.

**Author's Note:**

> From Pornzammar with Love, [@cartadwarfwithaheartofgold](https://cartadwarfwithaheartofgold.tumblr.com/)


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